


[Ratchlock] The Medic

by ThatKup



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Characters & Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Civil War, Common height Ratchet, M/M, Size Difference, Taller Deadlock, This is another Ratchlock fic 'cause I can, alternative universe, fight me, headcanon cybertronian food, lol I just want to have Ratchet cook for Deadlock later in the fic, my superior suppers, steel and silver, this is a foodie based fanfic no objection granted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24874675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatKup/pseuds/ThatKup
Summary: Ratchet gets imprisoned by Deadlock, Ratchet being Ratchet, Deadlock being Deadlock, this and that happens.HE guaranteed.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [【锁救】医生](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013026) by [ThatKup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatKup/pseuds/ThatKup). 



> English is not my first language, so if there's any confusion takes place, comment below and I will try to explain or fix them. Thank you very much!!!

There’s a blast, then footsteps, rushing towards the room. The medic never once raises his helm though, his hands busy welding up the mid-plate.

“Nobody moves!”

Someone breaks in, there isn’t a door anyway. His team follows. There’s not much light in the room either, all the power it has used for operation-lighting.

“I said no move!”

“I am not moving!” The medic yells, left hand pushing his patient’s helm back to the medical berth, “ten sec, then I will do whatever you --”

As a bullet whistles, the right tip of his white chevron is gone.

“Stop, right, now.”

“You won’t kill me, that’s not your order.” The medic vents in with a tremor, leaves the soldier a glimpse while his hands finishing the last step, “Done, happy? This one’s a con, no friendly-fire, you get it?”

Another mech stomping across the hallway, the soldier -- who’s in dark blue -- steps aside like his teammates.

“What the frag took you so long!”

So here comes a hot one, the medic moves back a little, clamping down every piece of armor. There’s no way to escape, but to become a prisoner elegantly is always a work of art.

The owner of the fiery voice shows up, his heavy plate taking up a lot of space.

“No barking at the wrong one, that was me.” the medic shrugs, holding up his both hands, “I yield, cuff or chain?”

“We don’t have time for this.”

The tall mech reaches for the medic, who doesn’t wriggle at all, though that hand directly lies on his lower waist.

“Head back.” This one clearly sounds like the commander of this mission.

They are now the head of the line. A dozen mecha tailing them, all wearing the purple badge. On the side of the hall, patients are looking at them by doors, confused. None of the soldiers gives them attention.

“Wait, what about the patients?” The medic turns to the commander, but the taller mech yanks at him.

“They are not part of this mission.”

“Then what’s this stupid mission?” The medic tries to pull back his arm, but the taller mech loosens his grip, making the medic hits his right shoulder on the wall. Before the shorter mech finds back his balance, the con commander seizes his throat.

“To save your aft, Ratchet.” 

That pair of red optics look straight into the blue ones, so near that Ratchet can see himself from that shaded glass. The con has his face-plate deep gray. His fangs bare from saying the last word.

Ratchet’s lips shivers:

“Dri...”

“Let’s move, shall we?” He hisses, “and the designation is Deadlock.” 

The grip moves to Ratchet’s shoulder. He hesitates, then nodes.

“As you wish, Deadlock.”

Ratchet taps that hand to brush it off, while Deadlock grabs him instead, dragging the medic towards the exit. 

This is an Autobot underground clinic, abandoned, to be precise. Ratchet is the last and only medical unit who insists to stay with the wounded, Autobot or not, as long as they are inside the facility, they are under Ratchet’s protection. 

But what he is doing cannot help Autobot winning back Iacon. Glad that Decepticon designates the city as the capital of their new authority instead of blow it off with bomb rain or burning down to rust and ash. One point for their effort. Most of the defeated retreat, but not of them are able or willing to do so. Clearly, Ratchet is the best example. Others decide to stay and moves their action underground, in which, Ratchet is also an example, but maybe not a good one.

“So, Deadlock, what’s your mission doing about me?”

Ratchet hops onto an air unit following Deadlock. The giant transport heli blowing off dust and grains, making a lot of noise. Ratchet can still see his patient, their optics bewildered, shine and blink like dozens of stars at that dark exit.

“You are with me.” Deadlock takes a seat that blocking Ratchet’s way, if the medic shows any intention jumping off; he then turns to his team, “move your aft! We are taking off!”

The heli closes his hatch, four strong propellers creating enough lift to take them off.

The field inside this cabin is heavy. Thousands of house lights outside pierced through portholes, sprinkling on the soldiers’ dull-colored armors. Ratchet sighs. If he weren’t an Autobot, this city is probably peaceful enough for him to continue a mundane life.

He huffs, gaining a series of glances.

“So a combat squad plus a transport air unit just for one, single, fragging, mech, which is me. Oh dear Primus, I’m fluffed.”

“I don’t remember you being so naggy.”

“And thirty seconds ago you didn’t seem like remembering me.”

“I do! That’s why I’m here and shut the frag up!” Deadlock raises his voice gradually.

Ratchet falls silent. Precisely, he’s shocked. This mech no longer the one in his memory.

“Permission to report, ” the air unit clears his voice.

“Granted,” Deadlock looks to the cockpit, “the seekers?”

“Affirmative. They are ten seconds away from us now.”

“Bombing needs a lower altitude, isn’t it? Get us higher.”

“Copy that.”

The plane raises his nose, Ratchet’s frame is pushed against Deadlock.

“Correction, fifty seconds.”

“They are slowing down.” Deadlock says, “any sign they recognize us?”

“Negative, commander.”

“Silence your radio, lads, we get this.”

Ratchet is alert. He shakes Deadlock, only receives a warning glare.

About fifty seconds after, the heli calls of the silence. The soldiers cheer and chuckle, relieved.

“What was that?” Ratchet turns to peek out from the window, just in time, an explosion happens in the direction of the underground clinic.

His blue optics widen, mouth agape.

“Wow, what, was, that.” 

He staring at Deadlock, voice quivering.

Deadlock blinks, without an answer, he reaches out to cup Ratchet’s helm. But the medic smacks that hand off.

“You could just, warn them, or just, shoo them away... no don’t touch me! I said don’t!”

“That was the only way to save you.” Deadlock grabs both of Ratchet’s wrists firmly, bringing them down before he accidental punch some innocent.

“I don’t fragging care! Why?! They were no threat, and that was, a clinic! And there were yours!” Ratchet’s optics fills with cleansing, “we were barely surviving, staying out of light, for months! And you just... you just --”

“Shush shush...” Deadlock forces Ratchet into his embrace, “It’s okay, you’re safe here, it’s okay...”


	2. Chapter 2

On the south wall of the room, there is a wide photo, an one-eighty degree panorama shot from the central signal tower of Iacon. Luna two, full and bright and cold, hanging in the middle of this picture with a silvery halo; Luna one is, however, on the right corner, she also glows in a rather bluish frequency, but not luminous or huge as the other moon.

Right above the bedside, on the north wall, there is a mirror, which reflects the image of Luna two. Lying down on the back, Ratchet can figure that vivid reflection on the edge of his vision, her white hovering blurrily, even if the lights are all out.

But there isn’t any window in this room.

A small table sets on the west side, made of glass, there’s no drawer in it; a door connects to other rooms on the east side. It’s like a door floating inside the frame, warm light shading the rim of that iron plate, and when someone outside passes by, a piece of shadow wavers through.

And now an intruder stops in front of the door then knocks, he leaves no time for the medic to answer.

“Ratchet.” Deadlock enters and turns on the ceiling light, “you need to eat.”

Ratchet already curls up when he hears that knock. He’s back sticks to the headboard, right hand grabbing the pillow tight.

“Not in an eating mood.”

Seems like Deadlock doesn’t notice the hostility inside Ratchet’s optics, he nodes at the corridor, then there shows up a mech with a red and gray pattern, who is holding a portable table, on which are some capped containers. He leaves the stuff on the bed, with his helm and optics lowering, the mech goes out within a blink.

A sound clicks, telling that Deadlock has closed then locked the door. He approaches Ratchet, making the medic straining his frame.

“You’ve worked in low-power for quite a while.”

“Noticed.” Ratchet gives those containers a look. Bowls are made up of stainless steel, while their caps are glass. Some steam leaving water drops inside those caps, so it’s not clear for Ratchet to assess the products. 

“Tell me, how’re Autobot’s rations?” Deadlock looks down at Ratchet, his servos touching two corners of the table. Ratchet avoiding the taller mech’s sight, staring at the mattress. Deadlock reaches for one of the bowls removing its cap, the delicious odour permeates.

Ratchet closes his optics immediately, but he swallows at the same time: “not horrible.”

“Is it.”

Deadlock opens another, this one has a deeper flavour. Then the third one, which wafts delicate smell. Even if Ratchet holds his breath, his fans still vent those intriguing scents in.

The con pours the copper-chunk source onto silicon rice, after fairly mixes the white rice and the brown-colored source, he chops the silver-scale fish with chopsticks, lying the diced fish atop of the rice, and pours a cup of energon for the medic.

“You may open your optics now.” Deadlock sits down while saying, pushing the table closer to the other mech.

Ratchet opens his optics a slim, first stares at Deadlock, that the hot meal, then stares back to Deadlock.

“No alcohol, nor poison or truth serum, I guarantee you,” Deadlock alters the position of chopsticks and its rest, “you are safe here.”

Ratchet’s left hand has been bracing his own knees, now those fingers tighten.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You are not a prisoner, but my guest.” Deadlock clamps down the broad armors on his shoulder, even lowers them down a bit, his eyesight fills with kindness and gentleness, “I learned a lot of things theses years, like hospitality -- you need to eat something.”

“That’s not all of it, isn’t it?” Ratchet dims his optics, “spill it, what do you want.”

“Alright, spill it,” Deadlock picks up the cup, hands it to Ratchet, “I need you to tell a lie.”

“Keep on.” Ratchet accepts that cup.

“Lie to Megatron, or whoever he sends -- depends on whether the lord is busy with himself.” Deadlock gives a look to that cup, since Ratchet shows no sign on drinking it, he keeps going, “tell him, that yesterday you intentionally came to me, and surrendered.” 

Ratchet splashes the energon over Deadlock’s face plate. 

“In your dream.” The cup cracks back onto the table.

Deadlock wipes his face with a stiff motion. His sight meets Ratchet’s, fear squeezes the medic’s spark, but he ignores it, staring back with firm.

“Throw me into the prison, or execute me in public, whatever.” Ratchet says, “I did not surrender.”

He sees Deadlock’s right fist, which tightening for a few seconds, then reliving.

“You already did. Think about it, the clinic under your responsibility is strategically bombed, while you are safe and sound here in the Decepticon region, think about it.” Deadlock intents to pinch Ratchet’s chin, but the medic avoids the touch, “I am saving your life.”

“Thanks for the effort, but I don’t need it.”

“Right, how about this, ” Deadlock retrieves his claws, after pouring another cup of energon, he speaks in a more leisure tone, “Megatron assigned several strategic bombing missions to seeker squads personally, one of the targets was your clinic. While you, the person in charge of that facility survived that deadly strike, because the general of the Decepticon ground force had a reliable informant. So this general gathered the soldiers he trusted the most, saved your aft without a permission -- ”

“I told you, I don’t need it.”

“If you bring this to light, this general, his loyal troops and a solid pilot will die, not including the logistics who just followed an order without questioning, the informant, and the air-line supervisor that got bribed, ” Deadlock again puts that cup right in front of Ratchet’s hand, “one could save these mecha, by telling a simple lie -- what’s the choice of yours?” 

Ratchet loses his words, his optics blankly blink. Deadlock is amused, he hums, taking a small gulp from that cup, then push the rim towards Ratchet’s lips.

“I will do it myself.”He accepts the cup, slowly drains the energon.

The general strokes Ratchet’s helm, a grin appears on his lips. There is another switch next to the one for lights, Deadlock turns it on, a piece of window emerges on that wall.

Ratchet’s sight is attracted to it. The sky is gray outside, but a number of smoke columns are visible. Suddenly, a seeker squad speeds off across the building’s wall.

“This window is one-sided, mecha outside won’t see you. We are inside the Decepticon region, it’s safe here.” Deadlock taps the rim of the bowl, “remember to eat. I will see you later today.”


End file.
